dashed the boat to pieces.  I bore her to a cave at a short distance from where we landed; and, wrapping her up in a cloak which I had saved from the boat, took away her nun’s attire, and exposed it to dry in the powerful rays of the sun.  I went in search of food, which I soon obtained:  banana and cocoanuts grew in profusion and in beauty, and fresh water ran down in noisy rills.  I bore them to her, and congratulated her that we were now beyond all pursuit, and in a spot which promised to supply us with all that we required.  She smiled languidly; her thoughts were elsewhere.  Her clothes were dry, and I brought them to her:  she shuddered at the sight of them, and seemed to muster up her resolution before she could put them on.  Night closed in upon us, and we remained in the cave:  our bed was formed of the cloaks and the sail of the boat and, locked in each other’s arms, separated from all the world, and living but for each other, we fell asleep.  The morning broke:  not a cloud was to be seen through the blue expanse.  We walked out, and dwelt in silent admiration upon the splendour of the scene.  The island was clothed in beauty; the sun poured his genial rays upon the wild fertility of nature; the birds were warbling forth their notes of joy; the sea was calm and clear as a mirror, reflecting the steep hills which towered above each other.  “Here then, Rosina,” cried I, at last, with rapture, “we have all that we require, blessed in each other’s love.”

Rosina burst into tears:  “All—­all, Henrique, except an approving conscience, without which I feel that I cannot live.  I love you—­love you dearly—­dote upon you, Henrique:  you cannot doubt it after all that has occurred:  but now that the delirium of passion has subsided, conscience has been busy—­too busy, for it has embittered all; and I feel that happiness is flown for ever.  I wedded myself to God; I chose my Saviour as my spouse; I vowed myself to him—­was received by him at the altar; and I abandoned this world for that which is to come.  What have I done?—­I have been unfaithful to him—­left him, to indulge a worldly passion, sacrificed eternity for perishable mortality, and there is a solemn voice within that tells me I am an outcast from all heavenly joys.  Bear with me, dear Henrique!  I mean not to reproach you, but I must condemn myself;—­I feel that I shall not long remain here, but be summoned before an offended Lord.

“Merciful Saviour!” cried she, falling on her knees, with imploring eyes to heaven, “punish him not—­pardon him his faults; for what are they, compared to mine? he made no vows, he has committed no infidelity, he is not the guilty one.  Spare him, O Lord, and justly punish her who has seduced him into crime!”